


Mosaic: Short fiction

by ChiropteraJones



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiropteraJones/pseuds/ChiropteraJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short fiction/drabbles, mostly concerning minor characters and OCs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stephen

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of short snippets, most of them snapshots from minor characters or OCs, that I can't or don't want to develop into a full length story. At the moment it's all Animorphs, because that's all I write apparently.
> 
> May be of varying quality.

<That’s really passive-aggressive, you know.>

Kinare was interrupting on purpose, trying to get under Stephen’s skin, but he finished before responding. <…to give me the courage and strength to endure. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. What, Kinare?>

 <You’re practically praying _at_ me. >

<I am not directing my prayers at you,> Stephen said tightly. <It’s wrong of you to listen.>

<Hah. You’d be better off directing them at me, they might have a chance of being granted then.> Kinare laughed. <An infinitesimal chance, but better than they have with their current recipient. And no, you’re definitely being passive-aggressive. Dear God,> he mimicked, <Please don’t send Kinare to burn in Hell for all eternity, even though he totally deserves it.>

<If that’s what you get from what I said, you weren’t listening very well.>

 <Oh, but I thought you didn’t want me to listen? Make up your mind. It’s not like I _want_ to listen to your self-righteous whining. You _are_ self-righteous, you know. >

Stephen didn’t respond – not directly, but of course Kinare could read his reaction. Stephen didn’t _think_ he was self-righteous, but what if he was? He should watch that. Just in case.

<And there we go again,> Kinare said mockingly. <Do you love me, Stephen? You _are_ supposed to love me.>

<I try to.> Stephen was so very tired. <You make it difficult.> Stephen had never really had an enemy before. Not like this. It was harder than he’d expected.

<What about when I finally talk your sister and your father into coming to the Sharing with me? And your dear friend Matthew? Will you still love me then?>

<Perhaps not,> Stephen whispered. <I don’t know.>

<Perhaps not indeed,> Kinare mused. <We shall see.>

 


	2. Seerow

“Oh! I rrr-see!” The young gedd exclaimed. One three-fingered hand reached for the keypad without permission, sweeping the numbers and charts from the screen to reveal the rotating 3-D diagram. “It’s-rrrr so simple! The numbers… of rr-course, the pattern would rrr-have to cause…” Its yellow eyes were alight with discovery as it leaned in close to peer at the screen. “The rrrrenergy produced would-rrr be beyond–”

 <Show me your numbers.> Seerow picked his way past the two other pupils in the shelter to lean over the gedd’s shoulder. <Yes, you have it! Well done, Aralis!> He turned, his eyes beaming. <There, you see! Gavilan, come and look at this.>

<A simple concept, my prince,> the other andalite said disdainfully, making no move to approach from where he stood at front of the shelter. He touched the shredder at his waist, more out of boredom than threat. <All andalite children master the basic principles of those engines.>

<You underestimate her achievement,> Seerow said. A touch of annoyance tightened the corners of his eyes. <She has had no formal education prior to my arrival. For her to grasp this so quickly is nothing short of incredible. If we could only organise some sort of standardised schooling from an early age imagine…>

“Rrr, Seerow,” Aralis interrupted. “Wait, this, rrr, design here.” A finger stabbed at a schematic. “It says it-rrrr is the least common rrr-type. But, rrr, why? Is-rrr it because of the, rrr - the instability created _here_?”

<Ah, very astute,> Seerow said. <That is certainly a part of it. You see…>

<If you say so, Prince Seerow,> Gavilan said diplomatically. 


	3. Chapter 3

<I do not enjoy this, you know.>

The yeerk laughed, weakly. “Oh, no, of course not. You’re far too _moral_ for that. How terribly _convenient_ Kandrona starvation is for you andalites: you can torture us without having to get into the messy, bloody stuff. All you have to do is... wait.” He gave a twisted smile. “We practically torture ourselves. Maybe you should find some humans. They’re not afraid to get their hands dirty.” 

<This isn’t torture. If you would only take my…>

The yeerk spat at his hooves. “That for your offer. Settle in, andalite, we’re going to be here for a while.”


	4. Taxxon-controller

Ever since he’d got this host, he felt like he’d been going slowly but steadily mad. Every time he left the pool to crawl back into its tiny narrow ear opening, it took a little more effort to force himself to do it. One of these days, he knew it, he was just going to refuse, dive back down to hide in the sediment that gathered at the bottom of the pool when they called his name and who cared about the consequences.

The hunger got into everything. Sometimes it was hard to tell when he was due to return to the pool, because the taxxon felt burning, gnawing hunger all of the time anyway, and it was too pervasive for him to tell it apart.

He hated the way it seeped into every crevice of his mind, as if it was the taxxon brain wrapping around his and not the other way around. The way it seemed like, if he lost control, it would eat everything.  He felt like it would turn around and eat into itself until it found him, nestled inescapably into the taxxon brain, and it would eat him. It would _eat_ him.

He shouldn’t be afraid of his host. He knew that. The taxxon was an inferior life form; he was in control. But the trouble was that he wasn’t in control. He was clinging to the bare edges of control. And it terrified him.  


	5. Irdane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an OC of mine from my story 'Muse'. Irdane is a yeerk nothlit musician after the war ends.

Irdane sang softly to himself in the small piano room. This was something of an experiment; he’d come early to practice so he could use one of the pianos before any of the rest of the band got here. He had the hand-written music open and pegged in place.

It was finished, and he was happy with it – but he didn’t think he’d be singing this particular experiment for the rest of the band any time soon. _Maybe with different lyrics_ , he mused as he played the bridge. _Lyrics in English_. The tune seemed to belong to them so much, though, he hated to break them up. And he was so proud of them.

“That’s pretty,” Zack remarked from the doorway. “Kind of haunting.”

Irdane missed a beat, losing the thread of the melody. “Oh – Zack. Thank you,” he mumbled, while he tried to keep playing. How long had he been there?

Zack came up behind him and peered over his shoulder at the book. “What language is that?”

Irdane’s fingers froze on the keys. _No way_ , part of him said. _It’s too soon. I’m not ready! Lie to him_! But he’d meant to do this a week ago, and it was the perfect opportunity… He couldn’t see Zack’s face, and maybe that was a good thing. He took a deep breath and gathered his courage.

“It’s yeerkish,” he said.

“Yeerkish?” Irdane thought he could hear the way Zack’s nose wrinkled, and his stomach dropped.

“Yeah,” he said, and waited for the inevitable question.

“Huh,” Zack said. “Is that what you’re into this week? You dig up the weirdest things, Irving. The tune was nice, anyway.” He touched Irdane’s shoulder lightly and turned to leave. “We’re about to start, so get your ass down to the rehearsal room.”

Irdane twisted on the piano stool to look after him. “Yeah,” he said faintly. “Heh heh. You know me.”

He waited until Zack was gone before planting his elbow on the keys and resting his head on his hand. _Next week_ , he promised himself _. Next week, I’ll definitely…. at least start sounding them out to see how they’re going to react_. 


	6. Shalan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why doesn't anyone else understand how important Shalan's job is? Yeerk OC.

“You want to _what_?”

“Dive down to the bottom of the pool,” Shalan repeated patiently.

The overseer cocked his head to look at her with just one of his big, lizardy gold eyes. “And why in the name of the Kandrona do you want to do that? I don’t have time for games, little human. I’m very busy. Go away.”

“This won’t take long,” Shalan said. She had chased the overseer across half the facility before she’d managed to catch up; she’d accosted him as he strode across the banks of the pool talking to a subordinate. Respectfully, of course. “And I don’t play games. It’s very important that I get to the sensors at the bottom of the pool.”

“There are sensors at the bottom of the pool?”

She sighed. It really was aggravating how little people knew about such a vitally important area of study as hers.  “Are you aware that in a closed system such as this yeerk pool, disaster can strike in as little as a decicycle?” she said.

“Are _you_ aware that I am a Sub-Visser and could have you fed to the taxxons at any moment?” he growled.

 _You won’t. I have rank enough that you’d have to answer for it to my superior_ , Shalan thought. _Plus, you do know how important my job is, even if you act like you don’t._ “The conditions in the pool need to be monitored on a constant basis,” she said. “Water quality is of the utmost importance, as I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. One of the deep sensors is malfunctioning and I need to examine it to find out what the problem is.”

The overseer looked up from her and gestured impatiently to his underling. “Get on with it,” he said. “I’ll be there shortly. The answer is still, ‘go away’.” He turned away from Shalan.

“How long is it since you’ve fed?” Shalan said. She hefted her equipment onto her other hip.

The overseer blinked. “What? Two fifth-cycles. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Hmm, you’ll probably just be in time to catch it, then,” she said. “If there is a problem.”

“Catch what?”

“The window between the acidity hitting the Alaric level and starting to kill off the commensal _balnis_ microbes, and the critical point at which the micratoxin accumulation from the resulting overgrowth of _relnis_ starts causing permanent damage,” she retorted.

The overseer scowled. “I don’t know what any of that means, but you can’t scare me with a few scientific words.” He loomed over her. “None of that is going to happen.”

 She stood her ground. “Not for certain,” she agreed. “But it might. If it does, we won’t have any warning or chance to fix it if I don’t sort out this ongoing problem with the sensors.”

“Wait until the next time the pool is cleared for general maintenance,” the overseer growled eventually. “Here, I’ll book you into the schedule for it right now.”

“That’s not for months!” Shalan cried. “That’s useless. If there is a problem we could-”

“We never needed your fancy new sensors before,” he said. “Nobody’s ever died from the lack of lunatic human-controllers diving into their midst in ridiculous head gear.”

“We never had so many in the yeerk pool before,” she countered. “This population density is unprecedented in my experience.” Her ‘experience’ amounted to one permanent pool, one minor ship and a lot of reading, but he didn’t need to know that.

He stared at her for a few moments. His tail swayed a little from side to side as he thought.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll detail a hork-bajir controller to haul you out when you’re done.”

Shalan smiled. “Thank you, Sub-Visser.”

He grunted and turned his back; Shalan stepped politely out of the way of his tail. She saw him bark something into his wrist communicator, and a Hork-bajir peeled away from a nearby group to approach. That would be her help.

She cinched the weight belt tighter around her waist, and pulled the goggles down. They fogged up instantly.

<You know I can’t even swim, right?> her host asked.


	7. Stephen II

<Please! I’ll do anything, anything –>

<You really don’t get it, do you?> Kinare sighed. <I’m not recruiting her to torment you, you self-important fool. I’m doing it because I’ve been ordered to get more hosts, and at the moment, your family are the people I’m most likely to be successful with.> He carried on calmly eating breakfast, in stark contrast to the sick, frantic pleading going on in his mind. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

<Please!> Stephen said desperately. <There must be something you want - I’ll stop doing the things that annoy you. Singing, praying, I won’t do any of it, never again. I won’t argue, I won’t ever speak a word to you for as long as I live, just – don’t.>

<Your listening comprehension is defective,> Kinare said. He picked up the coffee mug and drained it. <It’s _not about you_. I can’t just not recruit people. That’d look bad. People would think there’s something wrong with me. Your sister is just the first on a long list I’m going to start. >

<Move her back in the list! _Take someone else!_ > Stephen caught his breath, almost, a stumble in his thoughts as he realised what lay under what he’d said. 

Kinare paused the coffee mug, then slowly put it down with a click. <Take someone else, oh?> he said. <Do go on, Stephen.>

<I mean – I mean – oh, God….> Stephen crumpled with shame, wanting to take the words back as much as he wanted to go on.

<What you mean is: don’t take my sister, take somebody else that I don’t care about,> Kinare said, silkily. <Isn’t that what you mean, dear Stephen? Who did you have in mind?>

<No. No. Please, just don’t take her, that’s all I meant.>

He tried not to think the thoughts that were screaming in the back of his mind. Take someone else, anyone else. Take them, hurt them instead of me.

But it wasn’t himself he wanted to save, it was other people.

_Do you think that makes it better?_

_I’d throw ten people to the yeerks if it would keep her safe_.

Selfishness. Who would he hurt to keep his own loved ones safe?

<Oh, plenty of people, apparently,> Kinare said. <Sure, let’s do this. Name some names. Who should I go after in place of your sister?>

<No! I can’t – don’t go after anybody!>

<Not an option, Saint Stephen. Name someone else I can take instead.>

There was – there was – what about…?

Stephen shoved the thoughts away. The thought of someone being subjected to this living hell because he’d picked them out for it made him feel sick. But he was weak, he was selfish, God forgive him…

<It doesn’t have to be someone you know well,> Kinare said. <Pick someone from work. Someone you don’t like, even.>

A face appeared in Stephen’s mind, and he shoved it away instantly before Kinare could seize on it. No.

<I can’t!> Stephen burst out.

<Sure you can. It’ll be easy. Isn’t it worth it?>

<I can’t pick someone for you to take! That’s – wrong, wrong. I won’t do it.>

<Not even for your beloved little Gracie?> He used the name deliberately - she allowed nobody but Stephen to call her Gracie.  

<I won’t. I can’t.>

<You value some random person’s freedom over that of your own sister?> Kinare’s voice held carefully crafted disgust. <I wonder what she’d say about that? How do you suppose that’d make her feel?>

<No. That’s not – no life has more value than another.> Stephen couldn’t think straight, all his thoughts were jumbled. <To pick someone would be – I’d be responsible. I can’t hurt an innocent, no matter what…>

<Oh, so it’s not even that,> Kinare said cruelly. <You value your own ethereal sense of integrity over her freedom. _Bravo_ , Stephen.>

<…No...>

Kinare stood and stretched, while Stephen curled up and just stopped trying to make sense of it. He couldn’t do it.

Kinare collected the coffee mug, and apparently tired of the conversation. <Better get going,> he remarked. <We’re late. I’m only playing with you, Saint Stephen. I have no intention of letting you pick my targets, that’d be ridiculous. Grace is my best bet, so Grace it is.>


End file.
